The Youngest Holmes
by TheBookHermit
Summary: My name is Cordelia Marie Holmes. I'll get straight to the point. This isn't a story and it's not supposed to be in your hands. Sure, I wrote it down but that didn't give him the right to steal it or to publish it on the net! That's okay though, I'll get him back. For now though, you should think long and hard about reading on. Because once you do, you won't be able to go back.


Part 1

I didn't walk across the stage for my college diploma. No one smiled or said congratulations. No one called my name. On the contrary, the Dean, Ms. Alderheim, looked

miffed even as she handed over the certificate. I couldn't blame her really. She'd been fighting off a cold, I could tell from her hands, and she had been my adviser

too,no easy feat I am sure, as I don't tend to take advice from people I don't know very humbly. I couldn't even blame her for not acknowledging me by name. She

hadheard it enough in the two and a half semesters I had been at Harvard. Mostly complaints I am told, which is absolutely ridiculous. Why should an institution

focused solely on education, find trouble with the educated? Apparently the professors didn't appreciate my correcting them during lectures, or my curt observations on

their personal lives. No one should stand in front of a crowd and expect not to be noticed.

I knew all of the information, it became quickly apparent that when I came to the college asking for my PHD they should have just given it to me as I requested.

Instead they had made me take classes which only two and a half semesters later had me leaving with all As, a very nice diploma, and some very displeased

professors. It could have been a very nice I-told-you-so moment.

I didn't voice my thoughts however. I was eighteen, not eleven, and, unlike my brother I actually could hold my tongue. When I felt like it anyway. Some people made it

hard. Ms. Alderheim certainly did. She secretly prided herself on her chessboard prowess. She was constantly playing online and pretending as though she wasn't. I

liked to time my visits during the final moves. A little multitasking was good for the mind.

I took the certificate and glanced over it, a simple precaution. I knew the school wanted nothing more to do with me, which would prevent "accidental" altercations and

misprints but as I said, the dean did not like me. I wouldn't put it past high emotion to be petty.

Seeing everything in order I attempted a smile, it looked anything but genuine but I didn't bother to alter it. "Thank you, it's been a pleasure," I said as I crossed to

the door. I was lying of course.

The dean all but glared at me, "Miss Holmes. Our time together has been many things but a pleasure was certainly not one of them." Hm, honesty. I seemed to inspire

that in people.

Now I did grin, turning back to look at her. "Is time spent learning really anything but valuable?" I asked in a sugary tone.

She sniffed, "So you admit you learned things from us?" She asked, clearly thinking she was trapping me with her words.

"Oh no Ms. Alderheim. I'm certain you learned things from me."

Her mouth opened in a perfect circle of scandalization which just made me chuckle, I opened the door and left the office, calling back over my shoulder, "I wouldn't have

moved that Knight if I were you."

The door slammed behind me as I left Ms. Alderheim and her impending defeat. I had a plane to catch.

Seven hours and forty-two minutes later I was back on familiar ground. If one counted London's international airport as familiar anyway. I was waiting for my luggage,

people watching as was my habit. A couple of boys had been gawking at me for the last few minutes, daring each other to come talk to me. I took them in in a glance. I

knew from my time observing girls at Harvard that try were what was commonly described as "hot", all I saw however were idiots. The taller of the two broke away

and sauntered over to me, trying to look cool. The sweat on his brow and the nervous ticking on his hands destroyed the illusion. I pretended not to notice his

approach, hoping he would walk by. I was pragmatic but not mean spirited. Or not very mean spirited. I wasn't good with boys. Or girls really. But especially not boys.

They were too simple. They would look at my dark tumbling hair, tall lithe build, aristocratic face, and wide eyes and assume that they would like me. That my

appearance would overshadow any wanting of my character. They were always wrong. He cleared his throat when he was nearly on top of me. I ignored him again,

reaching for my case as it came around the conveyer.

"Excuse me, miss?" With no other girls close enough to pretend to not realize he meant me I half turned with an exasperated look, barely restraining myself from

dropping the case on his foot. At my expression he stumbled back a step, clearly thrown off. I shook my head and walked past.

"I, um," he stuttered, "I was wondering if you'd-"

"No thank you." I said curtly, without stopping. He hurried to catch up to me, now he was getting annoying.

"Listen, my name's Steve, I don't suppose-"

"No." I cut him off before he could finish.

"But you don't even know what I was going to say!" He objected. I stopped and spun to face him. "No, I don't want a drink, I'm very busy, and you ant have my

number. That cover it?"

His face turned very red and he backed towards his companion, "sure, whatever."

I rolled my eyes and left the terminal, hailing a cab. I couldn't wait to get home. I'd had enough of people for the day.

It didn't take me long to find 221b Baker Street or to get Mrs. Hudson to let me up to the flat. She hadn't seen me in years but apparently I look too much like my

brothers to mistake. I climbed the stairs quietly, though I needn't have bothered. Sherlock was abusing his violin in a gross and impressive rebellion towards what was

commonly known as music, trying to drown out Mycroft I suspected. I could practically hear his impatience, though he hadn't uttered a word I knew he was there.

Sherlock only played so when he was. My ears still ached from our childhood.

Mounting the last few stairs I caught sight of my brothers. Mycroft dressed impeccably as always; I noted his thinning hair, the extra two pounds he was carrying, and

the fact that he had gotten a dog in a glance. Sherlock always took a couple of seconds longer. One had to get over the absurdity of his appearance first. Currently he

wore his blue robe, a grey shirt, and pajama bottoms. Always nice to see ones brother making something of himself. Honestly though, he looked better than I had

expected. Of the two of them Sherlock gave me more reason to worry. He was too...Sherlock. That was the only way to describe the particular type of concern he

inspired. But as I looked at him I realized my concern was unfounded because, of all things, he was happy. Under his annoyance at Mycroft of course but it was there. I

was both surprised and glad. My eyes slid next to the last figure in the room. My mind catalogued him quickly. Soldier, Middle East, Sherlock's flatmate for two, no, three

months, somewhere between passively interested and passively annoyed at what was passing for conversation in front of him. He wore a sweater that looked too

warm and a tad too domestic but he had a kind, intelligent face and in a flash of intuition I knew he was a courageous man. My uninterrupted observation ended as he

noticed me with a start.

Mycroft and Sherlock had always been insufferable together. Nothing was making that more apparent than now. The soldier, didn't seem terribly fazed by the two but

he seemed utterly confused as to why I was standing there in the door way, coat buttoned, collar up, and one of Sherlock's old scarves around my neck. He rarely

upgraded his wardrobe, in fact he never did. Unless of course, something of his that he particularly liked happened to disappear.

I glared at the boys backs, waiting for their attention to finally shift to their surroundings. I'm not an impatient person but one can only ask so much of a sister.

I cleared my throat impatiently. They both turned.

"My my if it isn't Cordelia." Mycroft stated in the same neutral, icy tone he always did.

Sherlock smirked in his arrogant way but i knew him well enough to see the sparkle behind his eyes, to know how glad he was to see me.

I leaned against the door jam, as Sherlock and I shared a look. Neither of us were much for words, or at least not words that elicited a response other than

exasperation and certainly not ones of affection but we didn't really need to say things that the both of us already knew.

"Um." The soldier glanced between my brothers and me, "Who are you?"

I raised my eyebrows and nodded at Sherlock, he opened his mouth but Mycroft spoke first, "And why are you not at Harvard where you should be?"

The soldier blinked "Harvard...?"

I held my arms out wide, "You tell me."

"You're eighteen," Mycroft said as though that was an answer.

"Hard?" Sherlock asked.

"Cake walk."

"PhD?"

"Of course."

"Learn anything interesting?"

I snorted, "What do you think?"

He opened his mouth and I held up my hand, "I take it back. Don't answer that."

He chuckled quietly and climbed to his feet, crossing over the coffee table instead of going around it he held his arms wide. I grinned and skipped over for a hug.

Now the soldier was really confused. I didn't blame him, Sherlock didn't hug often.

"She's my sister John." He enlightened him finally, a grin in his voice.

"Your... You have a sister?" The soldier, John, looked both a touch shocked and unsurprised but mostly put out.

"And to think you never spoke of me," I feigned a wounded expression.

"You speak plenty for yourself, my dear." Mycroft put in, crossing the room to pat me awkwardly on the shoulder. I rolled my eyes and hugged him too.

"Cordelia, dear, aren't you going to introduce yourself?" He prompted, stepping back.

I turned to John and curtsied with only a touch of sarcasm, "Cordelia Winthrop Holmes, at your service. And might I say that I truly appreciate your service."

"My...?" John's eyes widened slightly and he exhaled, reaching forward to shake my offered hand, "Yep, definitely your sister."

Later that night I found myself shifting restlessly in bed. Sherlock had too many bloody pillows. Half of them were already on the floor, the other half were dangerously

close to joining them. I wasn't making a racket exactly but neither was I being quiet so I wasn't terribly surprised when my iPhone vibrated.

I pulled it out, flopping back to read the text. Two words: You up?

As if he didn't know. Instead of replying I climbed out of bed grabbed my robe and headed downstairs.

Sherlock was sprawled over the couch, fingers steepled. He was really too tall to be sleeping on a couch. His feet hung off the end. I had known they would. I had

pointed it out to him but he had insisted. John had actually offered first, a gentleman as I had guessed, but Sherlock had brushed aside his offer, insisting I take his

bed. I knew why Sherlock had done it but I doubted he did.

I raised my eyebrows and leaned against the jam, waiting.

He held up his phone, pretending to search for something. "Hm, no reply to my text, guess she's not up after all." He widened his eyes and his lips turned up in one of

his most sarcastic impressions of a smile. My brother could be such a child.

I shoved his feet off the end of the couch and sat, curling my legs up away from the cold floor, "She is up, she just doesn't like to text." One of our biggest differences.

Sherlock was practically married to his phone. He couldn't understand why I wasn't.

"Why is she referring to herself in third person?" He mocked, still put out that I hadn't texted him back.

I sighed theatrically and pulled out my phone and typed out three words: Because she can.

His phone dinged and he smiled triumphantly. I smacked him with a throw pillow.

We sat in companionable silence for a few minutes but I knew him too well to think his mind was idle, and neither was mine.

"So John." I said at the same time as he said, "You've grown."

I gave him a look, it was a leading statement meant to distract me. "That'll happen in a couple of years," I said nonchalantly. More than just my height had changed in

my two years abroad but I didn't think Sherlock was ready to hear about that yet.

"So John," I repeated. "Finally making friends?"

"I don't need friends," he said disdainfully.

I ignored this fit and said pleasantly, "And yet now you have one. And a loyal one at that."

Sherlock was quiet for a moment before asking, "What do you think of him?"

"Kind, brave, needs purpose. I think you're good for him. Good job getting him to drop the cane by the way."

Finally a real smile, I didn't ask because I probably didn't want to know.

"He would have left it eventually," Sherlock said finally. I wasn't so sure but I didn't contradict him. It was rare for Sherlock to have any kind of faith in people, I wasn't

going to dampen it.

"How's work?" I asked, though I already knew.

They'd been busy. Still were. If they weren't Sherlock would have been making everyone's lives miserable. He was happy and yet...troubled. I didn't ask, he wasn't

ready to tell me. Yet. I nudged him gently with my foot and he snapped out of his own thoughts. "Work is good," he said finally. And under his breath, quiet enough

that I doubted he knew I could hear he said, "He's very good."

Sherlock eventually drifted off, half on half of the couch, if I had been kinder I would have moved but I stayed, enjoying being back with the brother I had always been

closest to. He was keeping secrets, which wasn't new. I already knew a few of them, which wasn't rare, but what was bothering me, what was keeping me up was his

last statement. "He's very good." I rolled the words around my head. It was said with a sense of foreboding, he wasn't talking about someone we knew. It wasn't a

compliment but it held the weight of Sherlock's hard won respect. But there was something else... It was almost...fear. And yet it couldn't be. Sherlock hunted down

serial murderers and assassins for fun, what could possibly have shaken my unshakable brother?

I always had answers. If I didn't I found them but I wasn't sure how to find this one. I didn't have an answer but a plan was starting to form in my mind. I didn't know

what was going on. But I was going to. I was going to very soon.

End of Part 1


End file.
